


Hidden Harmony

by atmospherique



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Handholding, Accidental Kissing, First Dates, Fluff, Multi, Operas, Space Puccini, look i like the opera, not even thinly veiled Space Puccini, so many happy little accidents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:47:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28640253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atmospherique/pseuds/atmospherique
Summary: When the Chancellor insists that Anakin attend the opera with a plus one of his choice, he finds there's only one person available for the evening.(two low-brow boys go to the opera house to watch Tosca in Space and maybe end up kissing just a little. featuring cutie Rex and confused but protective Anakin. co-starring number one wife and wingman, Padme Amidala.)
Relationships: CT-7567 | Rex/Anakin Skywalker, background Padme Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 49
Kudos: 178





	1. Act I

**Author's Note:**

> written at the suggestion? request? of my roommate. tbh this is not a ship i normally go for, but the concept was too cute for me to pass up, so i did my best. title, naturally~, comes from the first aria in Puccini's Tosca (aka "Tosca not in Space")

Anakin is on Coruscant for two and a half days, which is just enough time to do nothing and just enough time to be bitter about it. He prefers to do and to move, but two and a half--now just two--days is barely enough to sleep and to be.

It’s only worse with the dark and inescapable shadow of ‘plans for the evening’ looming on the horizon. It’s hard to enjoy what little freedom is left in a day when he knows he’ll just have to give it all up to sit for hours sandwiched between a few overly-chatty politicians. He intended to wake up early and salvage as much of his leave as he could. Of course instead, it’s nearly midday and he’s still draped over his couch half-asleep after somehow finding his way from _the Resolute_ to his quarters last night.

The light is coming through the blinds like actual daggers, but the couch is just comfortable enough to outweigh taking any action to change this. It’s quiet the way the Temple always is. Calm. Stagnant. He can see the dust floating through those daggers of light.

After three weeks at the front, his body was all too happy to collapse. Obi-Wan is always telling him to rest, but it’s war, and even now he feels a twinge of guilt at how heavy his body is against the cushions.

Feeling guilty wouldn’t be so bad if he were having fun. In fact, with the right distraction he wouldn’t bother feeling guilty at all.

He really just wanted to enjoy some time off. Off from everything. The troops put on a good face when he told them they were going to be redeployed early. Well, Rex put on a good face. A few of the others grumbled about the Senate and the Seppies and the Council, and Anakin dismissed everyone before they grew loud enough that he couldn’t pretend that he didn’t hear them.

Hopefully, they’re all having a good time now, whether it be carousing or passing out on a couch.

Hopefully, they don’t have blinds angling sunlight straight into their eyes. Or an incessant _beeping_ shrieking in their--

Someone is comming him. It’s the Chancellor, so of course he bolts up and raises a hand to answer because it could be an _emergency_. Or more likely, it’s just a call to confirm their trip to the opera this evening. He hesitates.

Yeah, probably the latter.

He ruffles his hair, stands up, opens the blinds and answers in a well-practiced awake voice, “Chancellor, how can I help you?”

The Chancellor greets him with a polite nod. There’s no urgency to this gesture. Which definitely means it’s not an emergency. Damn. He huffs a little, clearly amused. “Anakin, you’re looking well,” which probably means he looks like trash.

“We just got back from the front last night. It’s, uh, been a long time since I slept on anything other than a cruiser bunk.” Actually, his bed on _the Resolute_ is probably a lot better for his back than the couch. “I can still make it tonight, though.”

His lips wrinkle, forlorn. “Anakin, I’m terribly sorry, but I’m afraid I must cancel our plans.”

No opera? No opera!

“Oh,” Anakin says. “I don’t mind.” Then quickly mustering a bit more regret and enthusiasm, “I mean, you don’t have to apologize, Chancellor. I know you have a busy schedule.” Really, he tries to tell himself, he’s thankful that the Chancellor bothers to let him know personally rather than simply having an aide contact him like he would with so many sycophants and petty politicians. He’s flattered, _really_ , and hopes that his expression reads as such rather than zealous relief.

The Chancellor nods before wistfully tilting his head. “Thank you for understanding, though I do feel terrible. _Ka Rasna_ should be a staple in your cultural education. It’s a shame you have to miss it.”

“Next time, right?”

“Unfortunately there won’t be a next time quite like this. It’s the final performance this season, and I’d simply hate for you to miss Guadiline Parthrix in the titular role.” The Chancellor often comments on the quality of one singer over the other, but Anakin has never been able to discern much more than the fact that some can sing higher and some can sing lower. Parthrix or a yodelling bantha, it makes no difference to him, but it apparently matters a great deal to the Chancellor. The man’s eyes light up as he says, “Ah, here’s an idea. Why don’t I give you my ticket so you can take someone else with you?”

It takes one too many seconds for him to come up with the words for, ‘No thank you, that’s fine.’

“You can give me a review over lunch tomorrow. You’re free at noon, aren’t you?”

He tries not to grit his teeth as he accepts the invitation. Of course he fails, but it’s hard to see gritted teeth behind the right grin, anyways.

The Chancellor gives him the most patient smile, soft and gentle with just a hint of pride, the kind that assures Anakin he isn’t a complete barbarian. “I’ll inform the box office.”

As soon as the call cuts out, Anakin sinks his face into his palms.

Yes opera...

This is why he should never get his hopes up over anything. The universe conspires against him. Conspires with the weapon of multi-hour, seat-confining, over the top performances where the singers take ten minutes to say two or three sentences.

Of course, he’s survived much worse, but at least when engaging Separatists he’s allowed to break things.

He drops back onto the couch and checks the time. Less than eight hours before the show, which means less than seven hours before he’ll need to leave, which means less than six hours before he starts thinking about getting ready, which means the rest of the day is basically gone.

Well, at least he knows one person who’ll be happy to get a free trip to the opera.

Padme answers his call immediately.

“Anakin!” She beams.

“Hi, Padme.”

“Are you on Coruscant?”

“Just made it back last night.”

“It’s good to see you in one piece.” Her smile wilts a bit when she glances down. She’s in her office, he realizes. “I have a lot to take care of today, but let’s catch up soon. Maybe dinner tomorrow?”

“Well…”

“Ani, is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just have a favor to ask.”

She gives him her ‘I’m working’ look which is tired but just a little quirk-lipped with pity.

“Can you come to the opera with me tonight? I know it’s short notice--” he cuts off at the face she makes. “What?” 

Pity has completely taken over her expression. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” he demands.

“I’m already going with someone else. I’ll see you there, though.”

“What! With who?”

“Bail Organa. I bought the tickets a month ago; I can’t cancel now.”

“Why didn’t you invite me?”

“I thought you didn’t like the opera.”

While Anakin has never said so out loud in Padme’s presence, he did technically fall asleep the last time they went together. He assured her he was just recovering from his last mission and was not at all bored beyond all synaptic activity because _Shiraya_ was three and a half hours of the same flute motif over and over and over again. She didn’t buy it.

“That is _not_ the point.”

“Anakin. I’m not going to abandon Bail, even for you. We’ve both been looking forward to this.” He’s about to stumble through another protest when she asks, “Why are you going?”

He sighs. “Something came up in the Chancellor’s schedule, so he gave me his tickets.”

“And you need a date.”

“ _No_. I just don’t want to go alone. It would be…” boring, embarrassing? To be seen alone? He relies on Padme to be his plus one in most situations, craves that extra time with her even if he can’t cling to her in public the way he wants.

“If you don’t want to go, then don’t go,” she says.

“The Chancellor gave me these tickets, Padme. As a gift.”

“Do you really think he cares whether or not you use them?”

“They’re expensive,” he says, knowing that won’t deter her interrogation.

She even rolls her eyes. “And?”

“And he wants”--Anakin wants--“to discuss it over lunch tomorrow”--to be able to talk about something that isn’t electronics or lightsabers or explosions.

“Just read a summary. I’ll forward one to you.”

“He’ll _know_. He always knows.”

She sighs pointedly and puts her chin in her hand.

“Spare me your pity, senator.”

“Well, _Ka Rasna_ is probably Pucheeni’s best work.”

“So I’ve heard,” he mutters.

“Isn’t there anyone else you could ask? Obi-Wan or Ahsoka?”

Obi-Wan would absolutely come. But he’d also come with annoying questions like, ‘How on earth did you get these tickets?’ followed by, ‘Anakin, you cannot accept gifts from politicians, certainly not from the Chancellor.’

Snips would come because she’s a good padawan. He could spin the situation as being part of her training, and she’d gripe, but she’d do it. But he doesn’t have the heart to subject her to it. Especially not since she has plans to spend time with Barris and a few other padawans this evening. She smiled all sparkle-eyed when she told him that, and she really looked like a kid for once.

“Why don’t you ask Rex?”

He blinks. “What?”

“Your men are on leave with you right now, aren’t they?”

“Yeah.”

“So ask Rex. I’m sure he’d be ecstatic to do something like this.”

“Like… this…”

“Some people actually enjoy the opera, Ani.”

“And you think Rex is one of those people.”

“I _think_ you should just ask him. He can say no if he wants, but he can’t say yes unless you ask.”

Anakin pauses, remembering the half dozen times his captain has said, ‘I’m here for you, general, just let me know if you need anything,’ and feeling a certain lousy grind in his stomach at the thought that he should cash in on his friendship and trust this way.

He sighs. Padme’s right. Rex might like it. Might. And what’s the worst that could happen? He has a miserable time, someone spills champagne on him, he has to sit next to a mean-spirited politician and he never wants to do Anakin any personal favors ever again?

Yeah, that’s probably the worst.

Something about that scenario churns that lousy feeling into an even fiercer sensation.

“Okay, I’ll ask him. But it’s not a date.”

“It’s okay if it’s a date, Ani.” Padme was the one who suggested they see other people on occasion. ‘Not in place of but in addition to,’ or something like that. He worried at first that she brought it up because she herself wanted to see someone specific, but she explained that she just wanted him to have more people in his life. She is the first and only person he’s ever formed… an attachment to, after all. And she is so often very busy, _after all_. He doesn’t have time to insist that this will not be such an occasion before she says, “Either way, I hope he says yes. Let’s meet up during intermission!”

“Yeah…”

“See you then!” With that, the call ends, and Anakin is again left in the weird sleep-quiet of his quarters.

Alright, no Padme. That’s fine. He has a steadfast captain to rely on. To abuse.

But the truth is, he sort of likes the idea of going with Rex. The man has a way of making Anakin feel comfortable even in the most hostile environments. They can make fun of the over-puffed rich people in the other boxes. Anakin can buy him something fancy to drink.

He’d like that, wouldn’t he?

Anakin is about to comm his captain when he decides he’d rather take a trip to the fresher to determine how much it really looks like he just spent the night sleeping off three weeks of droid-smashing on the couch.

The mirror doesn’t provide a welcome sight.

Did he really just talk to two galactic leaders looking like this? He slides his fingers through his hair and rubs his face until there’s a bit of color in it. There are probably solutions for the murky look cobwebbed across his eye sockets, but it’s hard to see something like that through a holoprojector, isn’t it? Probably.

Rex has seen him much worse than this. Bleeding, particularly. But at least bleeding looks heroic.

Whatever. He gives his tunic a quick skim with his palms and decides he’s fit to be seen by a subordinate.

Rex answers even faster than Padme.

“General! What can I do for you?” He’s dressed down to his blacks and standing at attention. A perfect soldier, as always.

“At ease, Rex.”

His eyebrows bend, concerned, but he doesn’t relax.

“Seriously, Rex, at ease.”

The captain’s lips twist uncertainly. He crosses his arms in front of himself instead. It looks a little like he’s hiding. “Is there something you need, general?”

“I...”

He waits patiently, but Anakin’s hesitance doesn’t seem to do much for his own.

It’s usually very easy to talk to Rex. The two of them have a rapport, an ease that cements them as a perfect team. “Are you busy tonight?”

“Uh. No, sir.” He doesn’t relax any more. In fact, his shoulders inch up just a fraction higher.

“Look, I’ve got a couple tickets to the opera.”

“Con… gralutions, sir?”

“I’ve got _two_ tickets to the opera.”

“Sir?”

“Do you want to come? To the opera? With me?”

“Er, as part of a security detail?”

“No, Rex, like _to_ the opera. Sitting, watching it. You know, no weapons, no firefights, just sitting. Sitting in the… uh, the chairs.” ‘In the chairs?’ Force, he’s really selling the appeal of this whole thing.

“Sitting down,” Rex repeats. “Watching the opera. Together.”

“Right.”

Rex doesn’t say anything for a moment. Anakin stops himself from prying at the concern on his captain’s face, the beaded lips, the broken eye contact. “Sir,” he finally says, “I’ve never been to the opera before.”

He’s… scared. Of what? People? Noise? The champagne spilling? The mean-spirited politician? Anakin quickly says, “You don’t have to if you don’t want.” But he also knows he’s pulling a face that says, ‘Please, just say you will.’ He tries very hard to look more serious. He’ll put any mean-spirited politicians in their place. Rex will have a great time. The best time. Better than any time Anakin has been forced to endure.

“Would it really be okay?” Rex asks.

“What? Of course, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well… it could be interesting, sir.”

“So you’ll come?”

“Sure thing, general.”

“It’s not an order or anything. And I should warn you, Rex, these things can get pretty boring pretty fast.”

“I don’t mind.”

“It’ll help build up his endurance,” another clone says off-holo, and Anakin is suddenly mortified and combing over everything he’s just said for fear of incrimination in _something_ , he’s not sure what.

“Fives! Shut! Up!” someone else hisses.

Rex is stock still, staring slightly to the left.

“Wait! Captain! Don’t let him go without asking about the dress code!”

“You are going to ruin this for him!”

“I’m helping!”

Rex’s gaze inches back to Anakin. He looks a little shell shocked. “Er, sorry, sir. Some of the boys just passed by, but,” he glances, “they’re _leaving as I speak_. I hope they weren’t too loud.”

“Dress code, captain!”

Rex is glaring now.

Somehow, Anakin finds the grace for diplomacy, “Um, you should probably wear something other than your armor.”

Rex blinks and turns back. “Right. Right, is it formal?”

Truth be told, even with Padme’s guidance, Anakin has never had a knack for gauging formalwear. “Extremely,” he says, pretty sure that’s the right answer. “Do you have…?”

“Yessir, I’ll requisition a mess uniform asap.” Rex’s shoulders have lost their hunch. His smile is easier.

Anakin realizes he’s never seen Rex in anything other than his armor or blacks. Is Rex excited about… nice clothes? Anakin smiles, too.

“I’ll pick you up from the barracks at six o’clock.”

“You’ll… pick me up?”

“Yes?”

When Rex is smiling, it really brings out his eyes, even through the holo-static. “Thank you, general.”

For once, the thought of the opera doesn’t fill Anakin with dread as dense as a punch to the gut. He can’t get that smile out of his head for the rest of the afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i honestly and truly believe that Palpatine clung to the hope that he could instill some sense of culture in Anakin as part of his evil plot. (who wants an apprentice with no appreciation for high art? yeah, Maul was basically a rampaging rancor, but at least he recognized the value of proper enunciation.) i asked my roommate if she thought he made Vader take diction lessons, and she said Palps probably had tapes playing continuously inside his helmet until his oration was up to snuff
> 
> anyways, thank you for reading :)


	2. Act II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so of course i rewatched the scene in RotS where Anakin is running into the opera house to meet with Palpatine, and of course i rewatched it enough to become uncomfortable with the number of people milling about. there is? a performance going on??? who is just now arriving?? WHO? why aren't the ushers holding anyone back????? Papanoida, why are you just chilling outside the Chancellor's box?? you are MISSING the performance!!
> 
> anyways, great costumes in that scene

With six o’ clock in sight, Anakin’s layering on his full regalia when he remembers that people eat, and Rex eats, and Anakin didn’t tell him to eat beforehand, and they are both going to be desperately hungry in addition to being bored unto madness.

What to do? The dinners at the opera house are so criminally expensive, they don’t even display the prices on the menu. Not that it matters without a reservation, anyways.

It’s minutes past six when Anakin brakes in front of the barracks with a pair of sandwiches from Dex’s in the passenger seat.

Rex is waiting for him. There are so many places on Coruscant where the sun snakes behind the skyscrapers early in the day, the barracks being one of them. It’s shadows and gold, and the barracks floodlights are washing away the evening darkness.

He’s dressed in a style of uniform Anakin has never seen: white like his armor with a cap and glossy boots and gloves. The fabric shimmers in the lighting, lustrous. Definitely formal.

He salutes as Anakin’s shoulders bob against the speeder’s braking. “Reporting for duty, sir.” It’s not quite a proper salute, too lax, and his lips can’t quite hide a smile.

“Hi…” For a moment, Anakin thinks about the end of the war. All the ceremonies Rex will have to attend, parades and other functions, just reason after reason for him to dress in uniform instead of armor.

And reason after reason to not get shot at.

Well, maybe that would be a little boring.

The salute gets a bit tighter. Rex breaks eye contact in favor of the middle distance.

Anakin recovers. “You’re not on duty, Rex. This is--” not a date “--we’re on leave. This isn’t a mission.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You don’t have to call me sir tonight, you know.”

“Okay, general,” he says with a grin. That smile really does make his eyes sparkle. All clones have the same eyes, of course, but Rex’s have always just been particularly… good. The suit just makes that more apparent. For some reason.

Anakin distracts himself by clearing aside the sandwich boxes from Rex’s seat. “We should probably get going,” he says even though Rex is already halfway in the speeder.

They don’t say anything for a while as Anakin pulls into the speeder lanes. After a few minutes, jammed unsatisfactorily between drivers who just won’t _move_ , he gestures to the boxes. “Did you eat?” He suddenly feels incredibly foolish offering an officer of the GAR a cheap sandwich on the way to one of the classiest events on Coruscant. “Sorry, this isn’t exactly as fancy as the opera.”

But Rex lights up as he opens the box. “I love these things.”

They eat the same way they would on a campaign: quick, quiet and focused. It’s familiar and therefore comforting. Even at the risk of crumbs and dressing on their formalwear.

Traffic is bad, but Anakin’s driving is worse, and they arrive in the Uscru District with ample time to make up for the sandwich detour.

Though the sun is still shining, the Galaxies Opera House is already lit up for the evening. Among all the impressive structures negotiated onto Corsucant’s surface like puzzle pieces, the theater is elegant but not overstated. A landing strip circles the building’s flank, and as he slows to a stop, Anakin tries to get a look at Rex’s expression, but the captain is turned, gaze solidly fixed on the spill of glamorous patrons loitering at the curving, golden entrance.

A valet takes the speeder, and Anakin trots out onto the red carpeted landing with Rex in tow. It’s not fear, but not quite excitement. Apprehension? Rex’s head is arcing one way, the other, eyes-wide.

“Come on, Rex, this place has got nothing on Chaleydonia.”

“No offense to Chaleydonia, sir, but it was covered in clanker scraps when we were there.” His eyes trail an Ithorian passing by in a beaded train. “I’ve never seen so many civilians all dressed up.”

“If you like this stuff, wait ‘til you see the costumes. They put Senator Amidala’s wardrobe to shame.”

He gives a hard smile but glances down at his uniform.

“Rex, you look a million times better than anyone else here.”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I just feel a bit naked without my bucket.”

“I’m telling you, you look fine.” Honestly, he looks a lot better than fine.

The clerk at the box office recognizes Anakin ‘from the holonet,’ and is incredibly eager to help. “You’re in for a treat, Mister Skywalker,” he says. “Miss Parthrix is the perfect Rasna. Are you familiar with any of her work? I can try to get you backstage, and--”

“Thanks!” Anakin says, making sure to use his ‘for the holonet’ smile as he swings Rex away from the counter.

“Do you get recognized a lot, sir?”

More often than he’d like. “Not really.” Not at the opera, at least. “A lot of famous people come here. And I’m normally with the Chancellor, and he’s kind of a lot more popular than me.”

Rex nods, apparently considering something. His tone is very serious when he says, “General. Thanks again for inviting me.”

“Don’t thank me until it’s over.

The usher is wearing a professional smile, but it shifts into sour when she glances at Rex. The captain is too enrapt by a woman in a feather and scale headdress to notice, but when the usher’s gaze slides back to Anakin, he makes sure to give her a disappointed frown. Possibly snarl. He often has trouble finding the cutoff point for one or the other.

Her expression sharpens, and she looks away. Anakin is satisfied to feel a wave of embarrassment peel off her Force signature.

“This way, gentlemen,” she directs them deeper into the building. Past the lobby, there are no windows, so everything is bathed in a decadent glow, light bouncing off the gold and red ornamentations, mirroring in the spotless marble floor. Anakin knows the route, of course, but it’s part of the pomp of the opera that you have to be led around.

They pass other groups heading to their seats. The air is bristling with conversation, generally excited or slow and comfortable. Their own group is silent, which is fine. Anakin doesn’t want to talk in front of a rude usher, anyways.

Several staircases and curving hallways later, they arrive at the Chancellor’s box. Rex immediately leans over the barrier to get a look at the auditorium. The seats are filling with patrons of every species, each draped in a more elaborate outfit than the previous. The airy echo of a hundred conversations bounces up the walls toward them.

“You almost wouldn’t think there’s a war going on, huh?” Anakin mutters. It’s a little bitter--more than a little bitter--but he says it just lightly enough that he hopes Rex mistakes it for a jab rather than a complaint.

The captain straightens. There’s a puzzled look in the tweak of his lips but a firmer sort of solemnity in the set of his brow. He scans higher up the crowd.

The usher clears her throat. “Your seats.”

Anakin flashes her a ‘give us a minute’ look, but this time, she’s resolute.

“If you’ll take a seat, I can call up your program sir.”

More pomp. He supposes the elites like having someone to do everything for them. “I’ve got it,” he says.

“Alright,” she replies, “enjoy the show.” She peers at Rex once again, but it’s more disarmed than disparaging this time. With a nod to Anakin, she departs.

Rex pulls back from the barrier. Still gazing over the auditorium, he says, “The way I understand it, sir, this is part of the Republic’s cultural heritage. Isn’t that something we want to protect as members of the GAR?” He says this with the same tone he might use to suggest battle plans. Anakin can’t decide if that’s good or bad.

“You’re more forgiving than I am.”

Rex shrugs and finally looks back with a grin. “Maybe I’m just more sophisticated than you, general.”

Anakin feigns a blaster shot to the heart. “Okay, _captain_ , which seat is sophisticated enough for you?”

He takes the seat that the Chancellor normally occupies, leaving Anakin to his usual place.

Anakin reaches for the display mounted on the arm of Rex’s chair just as the latter sets his hand down. Their fingers barely bush, but both of them immediately pull away with tandem ‘sorries.’ Rex takes off his cap and puts it in his lap and leaves his hands there, clutching it.

Anakin draws a breath and tries again. “Here, let me get your program.”

The projector lights up. Rex gives him a crisp nod. “Thank you, sir.” He puts his elbows back on the rests. Anakin watches his hands for just a moment more before opening his own program.

There’s a poster of an elegant woman with a bloody vibroknife. Skip. A mile-long list thanking the theater’s sponsors, the Sanya Tagge Foundation, Kuat Leisure, the Coruscant Arts Endowment and so many others. He’s not going to think about how the GAR constantly needs more funding. Skip. A cast list. He tries to internalize the names of the actors playing the leading roles--Rasna and her lover Mar Avarados and the evil Baron S’skarp--in some meaningful way for his review tomorrow. Maybe he can search the holonet for some useful information about them to impress the Chancellor. Something about their style or training? Singers have those things, right?

He doesn’t make it through the summary. It’s always felt like spoilers, despite the fact that Padme tells him he’s supposed to know the story going in.

He glances at Rex, who is reading the same way he might go over a mission briefing. His eyes flit back and forth, and he doesn’t notice Anakin’s gaze, too intent, focused, nice eyelashes. Anakin hasn’t spent much time looking at them from this angle.

“Is this a true story?”

The question jars him back against his seat. “I think so? It’s set on Eriadu, I think? Right?”

Rex keeps shuffling through the program. “We had to learn about a lot of historical battles in training, but I never really thought about them from a civilian’s point of view. Maybe this will be educational.”

“Uh. Maybe.”

“What’s this? ‘Titles.’”

“Oh,” he’d more or less forgotten about them. “They’re translations for the dialogue and songs.” Padme showed him how to turn on the captions, but the Chancellor never used them, so Anakin had been too embarrassed to admit that he didn’t understand what the singers were belting out, even when it was in Basic.

“Look at all these languages. Do you think they have Kaminoan? Or Mando’a?”

Rex is still scrolling through the thousands of options with Anakin peering over when a Rodian in a slinky dress slinks into the box. She announces herself with an affected, “Ah! Goodness! I hope everything is alright?” and surveys the empty seats.

Rex and Anakin share a glance. “What’s the trouble, ma’am?” the former asks.

“I only thought the Chancellor would be here by now. Has he been held up? Have you heard anything?”

Anakin says, “The Chancellor isn’t coming tonight.”

“The Chancellor isn’t…” She drops into her seat in the row behind them. “Well. I’m here for the opera. So that doesn’t matter. Because I’m here for the opera. And no other reason.”

“Can we help you with something, ma’am?” Rex offers.

She observes them both meticulously. She’s rich, probably a magnate and not a politician, Anakin decides, but eager to try her hand at a bit of flattery and lobbying. “Are you by any chance friends with the Chancellor?”

“Can’t say we are,” Anakin answers quickly, not wanting to get embroiled in whatever she’s after. Rex raises an eyebrow but doesn’t challenge him.

“Drat,” the Rodian mutters. She sinks like melting butter and pulls up her program.

Rex is still dubious when Anakin glances. “What?” he whispers defensively. “I said ‘we’ aren’t, not ‘I’m’ not.”

“Well, I guess that’s true,” Rex chuckles.

For a moment, there’s silence in the box as Rex pokes half-heartedly at the program. He’s less interested in it?

Anakin peeks at the Rodian to find that she’s staring back at them again. She asks, “Are you a clone?”

“I am,” Rex says flatly.

“Oh.” She turns her attention back to the program.

Anakin waits for her to make some snide comment, but she just stares blankly at the cast list, tapping at her armrest.

More silence. And now it’s awkward. Anakin debates initiating conversation with Rex again. He wants to impress him, make his eyes light up at the apparent novelty of everything, but he can’t remember any interesting facts about the opera mostly because he’s never really known any.

And anyways, now there’s a stranger hovering at their shoulders, and while Anakin doesn’t particularly care what she thinks about what he has to say, he doesn’t exactly want her to hear it either.

Instead he spends the next few minutes watching people in the lower tiers. He wonders if he’ll be able to spot Padme and Bail. The musicians are tuning up. Winds flutter between the persistent murmur of strings. The brass hovers dark behind them. It’s a floating sound, enough to make Anakin droop in his seat. After all, why bother imaging he’ll be able to keep Rex entertained? Surely the novelty will wear off, and the ostentation will get to him, and the story will be noxiously boring. Anakin drops his chin into his palm just as the house lights dim. He’s about to apologize for what is going to be a very long night.

But Rex gives him a look with the sort of fire in his eyes Anakin would expect before they launched an ambush. And that really has always been a good look on him.

If only the dark didn’t remind him of his couch.

“Looking pretty tense there, Rex,” he says, quietly to match the dampening voices below them.

“You know that feeling when the tinnies are dead ahead, you just can’t see them yet?”

“Adrenaline?”

“I’m feeling that right now.”

Anakin has to laugh at that.

“Am I overreacting?”

“No, the look on your face is just kind of--” don’t say cute “--cute.” Fortunately, the auditorium fills with raucous applause before the word hits the air. It covers up Anakin’s muttered curse, too.

He and Rex both join the clapping, the latter with a bit more enthusiasm.. A stern-looking Bith appears far below at the head of the pit. He pauses to bow, completely without flourish.

“Who’s that?” Rex asks.

“The conductor. He’s like the leader.”

He nods and nods. Anakin takes note: even the basic facts become interesting facts if you’re hearing them for the first time.

The clapping peters out. The Bith turns, a black-clad pillar. Silence like a big breath. Anakin can see Rex inched forward in his seat.

The show begins with a blast of horns, strings winding, a panicked singer spiralling across the stage. It’s not the least exciting way to begin, at least. Rex is entranced. Anakin keeps glancing across his shoulder to see that same intent expression.

It’s a story of an escaped political prisoner and a painter and Rasna, a famous singer being performed by a famous singer. The energy of the first few lines eventually drifts into an aggressively heartfelt aria, and while the singing is probably very good, Anakin quickly loses any and all interest. His mind drifts to what he’s going to say to Rex, what he’s going to say to Padme, what they’re going to do during the intermission, how he’s going to convince the Chancellor that yes, he really did enjoy whatever all of this is.

It feels like hours before the final main character makes his appearance. The villain, Baron S’skarp. And villains mean conflict, which surely in turn means things will pick up for a little while at least. Surely.

Pomp. It really is all pomp. The villain is grandiose. He’s manipulative, tries to turn Rasna against her painter. Anakin is deeply unimpressed by how easily she’s played.

Rex hasn’t made so much as a peep. It doesn’t look like his concentration has faded in the slightest.

“Can you believe this guy?” Anakin whispers.

Padme would shush him, but Rex just kind of leans over and vaguely mumbles, “Hm,” which Anakin takes to mean he’s too intent on the action to respond.

If Padme were this transfixed, he would have tried to badger her a little more. Just to tease her, and she would make a face but forgive him. But he can’t do that to Rex; he looks too charming, and he’d never admit that he was disappointed to be torn away from the story unfolding.

And why is he comparing those two situations, anyways?

It’s the Rodian. She’s not even paying attention to them, but her presence still makes her a spy.

Now Anakin can’t get back into the performance at all. Vaguely, he’s aware of the characters and their motivations. There’s a lot of singing, a lot of people. It’s the whole chorus. He remembers how Padme told him you can tell it’s the end of the act when all of the characters are on stage, though maybe that was a joke, but he hopes it wasn’t because that means they’re closer to the end. And he’s a bit closer to Rex now, not on purpose but only resting his weight on his arm as the applause hit just the right volume to lull him just a bit more.

There’s more singing and long parts with no singing, filled instead with trailing recitative, which Anakin has always found melodically aimless no matter the composer. There are louder parts that almost wake him back up, and he realizes he’s half-asleep but doesn’t do anything about it. Applause, more recitative. Rex is beside him, which means he can sleep whether it’s in the field or at the mercy of a nosy Rodian magnate or under fire from excessive vibrato and a string crescendo.

That’s what he’s thinking about when something squeezes his hand. He sniffs and raises his head, blinking to get his vision sleep-cleared.

On stage, Baron S’skarp claws at his abdomen. Rasna is nigh screaming. Anakin heaves a breath and leans back into the cushion of his chair, but something stops him.

Rex is clutching his hand.

His gloves are wadded up on top of his cap, so Anakin can feel how warm his palm is. Dry. He must have just grabbed hold of Anakin’s hand in response to whatever is happening on stage. When Anakin looks back at his face, he’s shaking his head in disbelief, in wonder. He looks young like this.

Anakin doesn’t pull his hand away.

Now the Baron is worming on the ground in a pool of stylized blood. Rasna is pacing around, a look of crisis hanging heavy on her face.

“She stabbed him,” Rex whispers.

Good for her. The guy was a creep.

Anakin yawns.

Rex’s grip loosens. His hand slips free without any acknowledgement. Did he even realize…? Anakin can’t think of a way to call him out that doesn’t sound defensive or annoyed, and if he sounds like that, Rex might not do it again.

Rasna exits to polite applause, a handful of bravas. Anakin yawns again, making sure to stretch like nothing just happened. It would be nice to receive this kind of audience support after killing Separatists, he muses.

Beside him, Rex is clapping heartily but freezes as the house lights come up. “What’s happening?” he asks, glancing around. “Is there an emergency? Sir, I didn’t bring my sidearm.”

Anakin rubs at his eye socket. “It’s just the intermission.”

“What does that mean? It isn’t over, is it?”

“No, it’s just a break between acts.” Which acts? Hopefully whichever just happened and the final one. Anakin has no clue how long he was drowsing.

The Rodian slips out before the clapping has quite died off.

In the rising of voices and the sounding of instruments as they’re set aside, Rex is still staring at the stage. His chin is propped up over his fists.

“Rex. Are you okay?”

He turns to Anakin, his expression quite serious. “That was incredible.”

Anakin’s lips quirk. “You really liked it, huh?”

“I’ve watched holodramas with the men before, but this is something else.”

“Yeah, it really is,” Anakin says, surprised that it comes out more sincere than sarcastic. After a moment, he says,“Come on, let’s go find Senator Amidala.”

“How long is the break, sir?”

“Half an hour, probably. We can just… sit here, if you want.”

“What do you normally do?”

Go to the bathroom. “There’s a bar on every floor of this place. Have you ever had a Coruscanti before?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it hurts me to make Anakin say these unkind things about opera. babe, calm down, Tosca isn't even that long, and you still managed to sleep through the good parts!
> 
> as always, thank you for reading and for the kudos and comments! Padme and Bail coming up in the next chapter~


	3. Act III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay! finally found the time and energy to finish this! (it's longer than i expected…) this last chapter is in part an 'everyone dunks on Anakin' chapter, so i hope you enjoy lol (also just a dash of Anidalarex?? King Anidala?? does this ship have a name??)

The hallways are filled with the warm rumble of chatter. Anakin has no fear of losing Rex in the crowd, but he keeps his shoulder close to the captain’s anyway, hoping it gives the latter some assurance.

Not far from the Chancellor’s box, they fall in close enough to hear the other talk.

“That song she sang was really moving, eh general?”

“Yeah,” Anakin answers absently, not actually remembering anything clearly enough to know what part he could be referring to. Nonetheless, he finds he does remember an opera fact, even if it is a particularly basic fact. “The solo songs are called arias.” And he also remembers something the Chancellor warned him about. “You’ve gotta be careful since opera fans get up in arms about the wrong terminology.”

“Are you a fan, sir?” Rex goads.

“Me? I think it’s pretty obvious that I’m way too uncivilized.”

“Civilized. Huh.”

“I mean,” he backtracks, “I don’t _hate_ it or anything, I just don’t like all the snobs.” Although, honestly, he can hardly begrudge people for gatekeeping him out of a place he doesn’t want to be. It’s the principal, though, the attitude. The expense and luxury when there are billions of beings who can’t afford food, rent, safety, let alone a ticket to the illustrious Galaxies Opera. All that and also the fact that he’s never seen an opera he particularly liked.

“Are there really that many?” Rex asks just as they pass a pack of patrons apparently trying to take up as much space as possible.

One of them is saying, “I’m certain Parthrix was an excellent Rasna _in her day_ , but she can’t exactly hide her age behind that dreadful vibrato.”

“And who is that no-name conductor?”

“The tempo of Rasna’s aria was too fast! The blocking completely undermined every attempt at poignancy! Those costumes, ugh!”

“The Galaxies is going downhill fast.”

Anakin just gestures with one sweeping hand, and Rex cracks a wry smile.

Padme and Bail are standing outside the staircase to their section. She waves as Anakin and Rex approach.

The four of them greet each other warmly and claim a space along one wall for conversation. As Bail and Rex exchange pleasantries, Padme slides a little closer to Anakin. Her head is angled toward him, but she’s peering at Rex sidelong.

She whispers, “Well, someone certainly cleans up nicely.”

Anakin rolls his eyes but still gives Rex another once over. Just because why not?

“How do you like the Galaxies Opera, captain?” Bail is asking.

“It’s very impressive, sir.”

“I’m glad you decided to come,” Padme says. She comports herself at all times with an air of graciousness, and Anakin might be a little biased, but when she smiles like that, you’d think she owned the theater and put the show on just for you.

“I am, too,” Rex answers. His eyes close with a gentle nod, probably an attempt to hide the bashful lift in his shoulders.

“Anakin hasn’t fallen asleep yet, has he?”

“Hey!”

“No, ma’am.”

The betrayal on Anakin’s face morphs into an appreciative nod.

“Hm,” Padme says. Her eyes narrow with a mischievous smile. “So, are you ready for your upcoming quiz over the performance?”

Anakin rolls his eyes.

“Quiz?” Bail asks.

Padme just levels another question at Anakin. “How would you rate this production, master Jedi?”

“I don’t know. It’s about as overdone as everything else I’ve seen here.”

“Well, do you feel that Parthrix did Rasna justice?”

“Sure.”

“It’s her specialty, you know.”

“She definitely seemed to know all the notes.”

“You have to have an opinion on something.”

He liked when she killed the villain. That was fine. It makes him wonder how there can still be another act left, though.

“I didn’t care for her at first,” Rex says suddenly. Everyone turns to him, and he blanches.

“But?” Padme prompts.

“But she, ah, she showed some real brass taking on the Baron like that. I have to respect her.”

“Even though she tricked him like that? It wasn’t a very honorable tactic.”

“No, ma’am, but she’s a non-combatant. I can’t pretend I understand what her situation is like.”

“Wow, you’re much better at this than Anakin.”

“I’m _right_ here.”

“Physically, yes.”

“Ha ha. Look, I promised Rex he could try one of the fancy cocktails, so can we hurry up and finish the third degree?”

“Drinks would be nice,” Bail says in his diplomatic-senator voice.

Anakin waves a hand and bows deeper than a prima donna at curtain call. “Then by your leave, senators.”

Now Padme rolls her eyes.

Stopping to talk was apparently a mistake. They manage to maintain rank weaving through the other dappled groups of patrons, but the line at the bar is imposing.

“Well?” Padme sighs.

“We have time,” Bail says.

There’s an almost awkward lull as they all seem to consider the veracity of this statement. The ambient noise is louder here with so many people clustered, but eventually, Padme says, “Bail, did you say this is your favorite show?”

His pensive expression washes away. “Absolutely. It was my first brush with opera. You could say it’s how I fell in love with the art. It has its flaws, of course; the libretto is a bit melodramatic, but Pucheeni’s compositions are spectacular. I love a romantic touch.”

Rex glances at Anakin, and he waits for the cover of Padme’s response to explain, “Too much story, but the music is good.”

Rex nods a thank you. Anakin notices his eyes again.

“Pucheeni is wonderful, but I’m more of an Amazeos Zar girl,” Padme is saying.

Bail laughs, “You would be.”

“Now what’s that supposed to mean?”

Bail just laughs longer.

Anakin gives her a chance to redeem herself from whatever it is that Bail is teasing her about. “What do you think of the costumes, senator?”

“Not my favorite, to be honest,” she says. “Most of the productions I’ve seen use historical dress. The modern aesthetic just doesn’t suit the show quite as well, in my opinion. What do you think, captain?”

“Me? Senator?” He looks to Anakin again, but Anakin just tilts his head with measured and hopefully reassuring expectancy.

“This is your first time seeing _Ka Rasna_ , isn’t it?”

“Yes...”

“So you don’t have any preconceived notions about how it should look. I’m curious about your opinion. Do you think the modern costumes set the mood?”

“Er, well, I don’t know much about clothes.”

“I thought they were alright,” Anakin offers.

“Yeah, they seemed alright to me,” Rex says, a little mumbly.

“Bail?”

“It’s more about the music, isn’t it?”

“Well, I guess that means I’m outnumbered. I believe that means drinks are on me.”

“If we ever make it to the front of this line,” Anakin quips.

Bail gives him a paternal smile. “We have plenty of time, Master Skywalker. Don’t worry about missing the final act.”

“Oh, I’m not worried.”

Padme shoots him a pout that seems to say, ‘You can hate the opera in front of me, but don’t you dare take out your frustration on Bail.’

Anakin shrugs and crosses his arms and turns away to avoid further eye contact but ends up staring right at Rex instead.

The captain’s mouth is set. He glances down the line. “I can skip the drink if it saves time, sir.”

“You’re getting that drink, Rex.” And he’s going to like it. And he’s going to see the beginning of act three.

The line has shrunk, but there’s still a dozen people in front of them. He glares at a trio of jewel-encrusted humans a few places ahead. They’re loud, they’re laughing, they already have drinks? They’re going back through the line!

All at once the three of them grow perfectly silent. They shuffle out of line and back toward the auditorium, heads hung, eyes darting. Cowed.

Oh.

Well, it’s not like anyone is around to notice if he mostly-accidentally bullies people out of the way. The rest of his own group are advising Rex on what cocktail to try. They shift ahead automatically. Anakin steps forward with them and decides to feel competent and effective instead of domineering. It was for a good cause, after all.

Eventually, the topic steers back to the production. “Senator,” Rex says to Padme, “I did notice something about the costumes.”

“Yes, what’s that?”

“That S’skarp character and his flunkies, it was subtle, but the shape of their costumes, the color... They reminded me of the B2s, the super battle droids, I mean.”

She turns her wide-eyed smile on Anakin for just a moment before she shines it on Rex. “See, you are pretty good at this!”

Rex looks only a little surprised by the compliment.

“I’m sure it’s intentional,” Bail says with a sigh. “The entire production wants to evoke this current conflict. As though the audience needs anymore reason to despise S’skarp!”

“Well,” Padme retorts, “why write new propaganda when you can repurpose a classic piece of art?”

“You call that propaganda?” Anakin says.

“I call it art. Art is always political, even when it doesn’t mean to be.”

“Find yourself hating the Separatists more than usual, Rex?”

“Er…”

Padme puts her hand on the captain’s shoulder. “He’s just deflecting because he didn’t catch it.”

“Oh, fine,” Anakin says.

“I’m sure Master Skywalker was more invested in other elements of the performance,” Bail says.

“ _Yeah_.”

“You’re right, Bail,” Padme says, and she lifts her eyebrows as if to say, ‘Such as the back of his eyelids,’ but she keeps it to herself. “I shouldn’t tease such an esteemed Jedi Knight so much.”

“He does tend to walk into it,” Rex mutters.

Padme laughs, and Bail grins.

“I thought you had my back here, Rex,” Anakin says, gritting his teeth.

“You’re lucky I do, sir.” It’s that deadpan delivery that breaks Anakin down, and he laughs and Rex chuckles, too.

As the line in front of them diminishes to a single couple, Anakin waits until Bail is asking Rex another question. “Hey, Padme…” He leans into a whisper. “Let me get Rex’s drink.”

“Oh? What’s that, master Jedi? _You_ want to get his drink?”

“Cut it out. Just let me do this, okay?”

The playful look in her eye warms, melts. “Of course, Anakin.” Well, mostly melts. “Although, I thought this wasn’t a date.”

“It’s... a little bit a date.”

She reaches for his face but thinks better of it. Her smile is something rueful, but she winks before turning away.

When it’s finally Anakin and Rex’s turn at the counter, the captain is still arguing about being treated. “Sir, you really don’t have to buy me a drink. I still have some left on my allowance.”

“Two Coruscantis,” Anakin ignores him.

There’s a heavy pause as the bartender fills their order before Rex says, “Thank you, general.”

“Consider it thanks for being my--uh, my plus one.”

“I’ve honestly enjoyed it, sir.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Anakin takes the two cherry-garnished glasses offered him and jerks his head in a ‘follow me’ motion. Padme and Bail are standing back in the scarlet and gold hallway with their own glasses in hand.

“If nothing else, the drinks here are worth the trip.”

He passes one to Rex, who immediately sniffs it and takes a tentative taste.

“Ooph, that’s strong.”

“Better than 79’s?”

He’s smiling. “Loads,” he says and takes another sip.

They reconvene with the senators just as the lights flutter bright to dim and back.

“The show’s starting again in just a couple minutes,” Anakin says.

“Bottom’s up?” Padme says, lifting her wine glass before taking a rather intemperate swig.

“Senator Amidala!” Bail scolds, though his lips crook up at the edges.

“I’m only bracing myself for the final act,” she explains, expression perfectly innocent. “No spoilers, gentlemen, but it’s quite the finale.”

Anakin says, “I am a little curious as to what’s left now that the villain’s dead.”

Rex says, “I suppose there’s some excitement during their escape from Eriadu?”

Bail and Padme deliver a very knowing look.

Rex takes another nervous sip of his cocktail.

On the way back to their seats, Bail steps away to greet an acquaintance, saying, “Go on without me, I’ll be right behind you, Padme.”

Rex is eyeing the cherries in Anakin’s glass as they walk. Padme is eyeing Rex. She says, “Do you want to go out for dinner after this? Bail’s headed home, but I’m famished.”

After? Damn, was Anakin supposed to starve Rex until now? “Sorry, we already ate.” He passes the toothpick to Rex.

“Maybe tomorrow, then,” she says, still looking at Rex, “if Anakin doesn’t mind a slight change of plans?”

Bring Rex? To dinner with Padme? He’s still processing this when he notices Rex staring at him, waiting for an answer, painfully blank-faced. He just sort of nods.

Rex slides the empty toothpick out of his mouth. “If that’s really alright, senator…” he says, mouth still drawn.

“It’s more than alright,” she says sweetly. Gently. Anakin isn’t used to hearing that voice directed at someone else, but then she turns to him with that same tone, saying, “I’d like to spend some more time getting to know you, captain.”

“Er,” Rex places the toothpick in his glass, eyes locked on the process, “of course, ma’am. That would be nice.”

They part at the entrance to Padme and Bail’s section. Anakin considers inviting the two of them back to the Chancellor’s box but figures that the senators wouldn’t want to be caught taking that kind of advantage. And with that Rodian still lurking around, they’d certainly be caught quickly.

Indeed, the woman in question is already back in her seat, messaging on her commlink with fervent fingers and a flat look on her face.

Rex nods to her as they pass, but Anakin just settles back in his seat.

He’s resolved to watch the final act. Properly. Eyes open and everything. Even as the lights descend back into the belly of ‘perfectly relaxing glow.’

He takes a drink. Bracing. ‘Quite the finale.’

“It’s not going to be a happy ending, is it, general?” Rex asks pensively.

Anakin has absolutely no thoughts on the subject, lacking most of the background information required to form an opinion. Namely, most of the story thus far. “You’re allowed to read the summary, Rex. There’s probably still a minute, if you--”

There is not a minute. The auditorium fills with applause, and the Rodian, grumbling, silences her commlink.

Rex drops his cap back into his lap and laces his fingers beneath his nose. He really is terribly invested in this.

Come to think of it, Anakin is pretty sure _Ka Rasna_ is a tragedy.

The act opens quietly, music accompanied by somber and silent acting instead of singing. The set design is morbid and ghastly compared to the vibrant ambience of the first two acts. Everything in greys and blues. Mar Avardos languishes in a cell, apparently having been arrested at some point. Anakin vaguely remembers that. His lover appears and informs him of her victory over the Baron. She’s glowing wild with hope and fear, and she and Avarados clasp hands like they’re holding each other’s souls, which is certainly good acting. She explains that the upcoming execution is a sham, that S’skarp ordered the firing squad only stun the artist, that Avarados simply need ‘make it look convincing.’ Anakin doesn’t remember that at all.

_“How handsome he is!”_ the titles read as she watches her lover marched before a firing squad. That signature opera-pomp is in good effect here. Rasna and Avarados are singled out in spotlights, but in the background darkness, Anakin can finally see those B2 lines in the file of soldiers.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Rex murmurs.

Even Anakin is leaning forward in his seat.

In a burst of color and white that washes away the drab scenery, the blasters fire. Avarados falls, and Rasna’s shoulders are high, hands near her face in anticipation, pride at his performance. The firing squad departs without so much as a glance at their apparent victim, seemingly happy to let him rot. Rasna creeps toward his prone form as the orchestra cuts out.

Cuts out like a vibroknife. Anakin swears he can feel Rex tense beside him.

Maybe he’s a bit tense himself.

Rasna rises.

Mar Avarados is dead; the blaster fire was real. The alarm sounds; S’skarp’s body has been discovered. Soldiers surround Rasna; she leaps from the height of the prison walls and dies to the sound of applause.

Rex whips his head toward Anakin. “They both _die_?” he hisses. Incredulous, defeated, affronted. He starts clapping almost absently.

“Apparently.” Anakin joins.

Curtain call sees the actors and the conductor bow and bow. Parthrix receives an oversized bouquet.

Anakin glances behind and notices the Rodian has fallen asleep now.

“Awful,” Rex’s voice draws him back as the applause die out, tumbling into silence not unlike Rasna, Anakin thinks in a more poetic moment.

“You didn’t like it?”

“I loved it. That ending was a real kick in the teeth, is all. I was really rooting for them to make it offworld.”

“Yeah, but it was still pretty good.” Anakin might have described it as fun: high-tension, nice special effects, loud enough to keep his attention. He doesn’t mind unhappy endings, either. They feel safe and unreal when they’re locked up in fiction.

“Do they record these kinds of things? The rest of the 501st needs this in their lives.”

Anakin bites back a charmed laugh. If the rest of the clones liked this sappy, over-the-top stuff half as much as Rex does, it would be a sight to see. “I’ll see if I can find some before we redeploy.” Padme would know where to look.

He rises out of his seat and stretches. The final act went by so quickly, he figured he was just more attentive than usual, but it was apparently only twenty minutes anyways. That’s a good length for an act, he decides.

Rex stands, too, snugging his cap back over his scalp. He peers at the Rodian in her seat. She looks harmless with her cheek pressed against her shoulder. “Should we do something about that, sir?”

There’s still a mouthful of Anakin’s cocktail left where it’s been sitting untouched on his armrest. He downs the rest with a shrug.

Rex taps her shoulder ever so gently, which causes her to bounce awake in her seat.

“Enjoy the show?” Anakin asks.

She glares before glancing over his shoulder at the emptying auditorium. “Would have been better if the Chancellor showed up,” she mutters.

“It was worth the price of admission, though, don’t you think?” Rex asks patiently.

“If I wanted a good night’s sleep, I could’ve gotten a hotel for cheaper. Good evening.” She gives Rex a curt nod, ignores Anakin and half-asleep staggers out of the box.

Watching her go, Rex says, “Well, sir, at least you’re not the only uncivilized individual at the opera house tonight.”

“What a relief.”

The crowds in the hall are worse than intermission. They have to shuffle forward like nerfs to the slaughter and shout about as loud as they might in the middle of a firefight, but Rex’s worked up and can’t wait until the ride back to the barracks to discuss.

“I just can’t get over it, sir. They were going to live happily ever after and all that.”

“At least it was exciting.” The word still feels a little dramatic. Entertaining, perhaps.

“She was clever, but she expected the Baron to keep his word, that was her mistake. She was _this_ close to beating him at his own game.”

“Rex, if you’re ever going to be executed, I’m skipping the subterfuge and just breaking you out of prison the old fashioned way.”

“I appreciate it, general. Same to you. I’ll bring the boys and everything.”

Okay. Anakin wishes he’d had a few more drinks. “It’d be more… uh, more dashing if you saved me on your own. You know?”

“I guess it would depend on the security measures.”

Force, it’s always so much harder when you actually care about the long term effects of your flirting. It’s always so much harder when the person looks at you and their face makes your chest wince. It doesn’t normally do that. He’s looked into Rex’s face so many times, and it’s always been comforting and familiar and reliable and brave, but tonight is the first time he’s _looked into Rex’s_ face and felt the stress of all they’ve been through all at once and felt the way Rex’s smile is earned like a hard fought victory and realized that he’d take Rex to the opera every day if it put that smile on his lips and took the weight of everything off his shoulders for just an evening.

The two of them have stopped walking. The flow of the crowd is shouldering past them.

“W-wouldn’t it, sir?” Rex asks.

Anakin can’t really remember the question but looks down at Rex’s mouth as he speaks.

A lumbering Ortolan slams past. Rex stumbles forward, catching himself--being caught in Anakin’s arms but also on Anakin’s face, and Anakin doesn’t _really_ mean to open his mouth, but he sort of does mean to, and Rex is gasping in surprise, but his fingers get just a bit tighter in Anakin’s sleeves, and his arms a little less tense, and it’s kind of a kiss because Anakin is mostly doing it on purpose now, and Rex is definitely doing it on purpose back.

By the time he wants to do it completely on purpose, it’s already over.

Rex pulls away. He doesn’t meet Anakin’s eyes as he tugs his cap back into place. The peak had slipped up over his forehead. “Sorry, sir, nothing happened, sir, won’t speak of this ever again.” It’s a strain to hear him now, and he tries to slide back into the moving crowd.

_No._ He snatches Rex’s sleeve, holds him back. The crows thins out. Rex turns his head so Anakin sees it in profile, his brow furrowed, resolution and regret. Anakin has to make himself let go, has to make himself say, “If… if that’s what you want.”

His lips quirk. He lets out a breath.

“ _Is_ that what you want?”

“I’m not sure.”

Anakin doesn’t say anything.

There are still a few other patrons lingering in the hall, but they’re engaged in their own conversations, probably badmouthing opera newbies who thought Rasna and Avarados were in for a softer ending.

Finally, Rex looks up. “Can I give it some thought?”

“Of course!” Anakin practically gasps.

“It... _was_ nice.”

“It was pretty nice.”

“Yeah.” He crosses his arms, looking like he did on the holocall earlier today. “Sir, is it really appropriate,” his voice descends into a whisper, “to see each other? You're my CO, and I thought the Jedi didn’t--”

“Well, I’m not exactly the best of Jedi now, am I?” Anakin bites.

Rex lifts an eyebrow. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re the best there is.”

That earnesty twinges again in Anakin’s chest. His fingers prick at the hems of his sleeves. “I’m not.” Rex is going to protest, but he continues because he knows he has to, “But I don’t care. I--” temper it “-- _like_ you more than--” _temper it_ “--I’m supposed to, and I want you to come to dinner tomorrow, but I have to tell you something before that. If you do want to come, I mean.”

It’s that same spellbound expression that he wore during the performance, only now it’s completely focused on Anakin.

“I’m, kind of… involved with Padme, too.” ‘Not in place of but in addition to.’ She put it so elegantly, how is he supposed to do that?

He’s wondering this as Rex’s face blows up with shock. “No!”

He cringes, mouth, cheeks, chest, ribs, stomach. “If that’s a problem…” If that’s a problem, what? That _can’t_ be a problem because he can’t handle it being one. Not when Rex is the first person he’s told, and not when Rex is so close to saying yes.

“I owe Cody fifty credits.”

“You…?

“It’s a separate thing. We didn’t think we should encourage the others by buying into the pool.”

“The _pool_?”

“The one...” He seems to suddenly realize what he’s saying, and sheepishly shrugs the topic away. “General. Are you really ...?”

“Well, yeah, but… Rex, this is a huge secret. So, at the same time, no I’m not.”

He nods solemnly. “Then it sounds like Cody owes _me_ fifty credits.”

“Rex,” Anakin groans, “are you serious?”

“Completely. I need those credits, general, so I can treat you next time.”

It feels like he just got flung back into a wall. Only nicer. “Next time?”

“I’m still thinking about it, but… the more intel, the stronger the operation, right?”

“And tomorrow?”

“Well, it’s not like I can turn down a chance to eat something other than field rations.”

Anakin beams.

“And maybe Senator Amidala can recommend some more operas.”

He shakes his head and sighs, but it’s with a smile. This is maybe the most opera he’s ever experienced, but at least if he has to give up what’s left of his leave, he gets to do it sandwiched between two people who ultimately care more about him than the opera or weaseling their way into the Chancellor’s good graces.

“Hey, by the way," Anakin says, "since you’re such a fan now, could you help coach me? I’m kind of supposed to give a review of the performance tomorrow.”

“I’ve got you, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> actually, i'm also more of a 'Amazeos Zar' fan myself ;) but my mom (violin) and my dad (trumpet) met while playing in the pit for Puccini's Triptych, so i do have a certain romantic fondness for the guy ;) ;) ;)
> 
> thank you so much for all the support, fam! it was fun to write something cute and shippy (which i haven't really done before), and everyone's kind words truly gave me so much joy <3 now go watch your favorite opera and dream of Star Wars


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